The Musician and the Dancer
by The Sultana Scheherazade
Summary: AU; rating may go up. A Twilight genderbend story. Brax Abelard never dreamed that moving in with his father would change his life the way it did, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This is my first Twilight fic. I liked the idea of a Twilight gender reversal, and I couldn't find any that I actually liked that were any longer than five chapters. So I decided to write one, simple as that.**

**Now I must warn you, my story will begin like the Twilight book, but will probably end up being completely different. My major characters are already looking markedly different from Stephenie Meyer's, especially Brax (my male Bella) and Amanda (my female Edward).**

**My vampires are also markedly different from Mrs. Meyer's. They are not pale or cold, do not sparkle in the sunlight, can enjoy human food to a degree, and are generally not bothered being around humans except when they are _very_ thirsty. They do have perfected features, great physical strength and speed, and in some cases psychic abilities. They are somewhat weakened by sunlight, and are vulnerable to fire only. They can fly and shapeshift at will into regular-sized bats.  
><strong>

**I don't really own much of anything, and I make no money from this. Hope you enjoy!**

**November 7, 2014: First edit already!**

* * *

><p>"You know you don't have to do this, Brax," said my mother for the thousandth time as I attempted to say my final goodbyes to her in the terminal of the airport. Outside, it was warm and sunny and cloudless, just like it should be in Phoenix, Arizona, even in January.<p>

"Mom, really," I reassured her. "It's okay. This is something I want to do."

"All the same," she placed her hands on my shoulders (why do mothers with sons like to do that so much?). "I want you to know that you can come home anytime you want - I'll be right back as soon as you need me."

"Mom, I'm a big boy," I said. "I'm going to be okay."

"I know, I know," said Mom with a sigh and a fond smile. "Say hi to your father for me, and remember you're still on the hook to practice two hours every day, you hear?"

"Yes, I know," I said. My airplane carry-on was my old violin, which I had had since I had outgrown my half-sized one at seven.

I _did_ want my mother to get some time alone with her new husband Phil. It was just that I wasn't particularly keen on moving out. Maybe Phil and I weren't thick as thieves, but he had left me alone and I had left him alone and things had been fine how they were.

But Phil was a baseball player by profession, and so was gone much of the time. Mom would always stay at home with me. She never complained, but it was obvious to me that she wanted to be with him. What newlywed doesn't?

For that reason I made my choice - to leave home so she could be freed up to travel with Phil, and to move in with my father.

My father lives in Forks (no really, that's the name), a tiny town which sits in the Olympic Peninsula in northwest Washington State. On this little town it rains more than on any other place in the United States of America. No joke - it's statistically proven.

I had actually been born in Forks, though my mother had fled away from its never-ending shade with me when I was a few months old. I had also spent my summers there until I was seven years old, when I had been diagnosed with asthma. Every summer after that my dad would vacation somewhere else with me.

Cold and wet - great for my asthma. That was exactly what Phil had said when I had made my proposal to him and Mom. But, as I pointed out, it wasn't as if I was going to die, and it would only be for a year and a half at most. After that I'd be off to college - definitely someplace warmer and drier - and they wouldn't have to worry about my health.

Mom had not been altogether comfortable with the arrangement, at least in the beginning, but she and Phil had accepted it in the end. So, in fact, had my dad. He was really very good about the whole thing, I remember, though I'm sure he must have wondered what would drive me to make such a decision. My mother had made no secret of her distaste for Forks, and my health was sure to suffer somewhat while I was there.

My first flight - from Phoenix to Seattle - was four hours long, and my second flight - from Seattle to Portland - was only an hour.

Then my dad rendezvoused with me in Portland to drive with me for another hour to the old house in Forks.

He caught me automatically as I stumbled, stiff-legged and disoriented, off the plane, and gave me an awkward hug. "It's good to see you, Brax," he greeted me. "God, how you've grown! How's Renee?"

"She's great," I panted, trying to right myself. I already felt like I was trying to inhale steam, and my breathing sounded unnaturally loud. "Good to see you too, Dad."

I had only one large suitcase and my laptop bag. The few articles of clothing I had consented to own back in Arizona were for the most part not warm enough for the Olympic Peninsula, and so Mom had had to take me shopping for just about everything before my departure. I hauled my one suitcase, laptop bag, and violin case into the trunk of my dad's police cruiser. He happens to be the Chief of Police to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation in buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I had no desire to ride around a town as small as Forks in a police cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," my dad commented as soon as we were both strapped in.

"Really? What kind of car?" I asked, trying not to read too much into the words "good car for you."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?" I was, to put it lightly, not a car-savvy guy.

"Remember Billy Black down at La Push?"

La Push is the small Native American (I refuse to call them Indians, that was Christopher Columbus' mistake) reservation on the coast.

"Not really," I said truthfully.

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Dad prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I seem to be very good at blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Dad went on. "So he doesn't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it, then?"

From the change of expression on his face I could tell that this was the question that he had hoped I would _not_ ask. "Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine - it's only a few years old, really."

"When did he buy it?"

"'84, I think."

Oh no. '84 as in _1984?_ "Was it new then?"

"Well, no," he looked a bit sheepish. "I think it's actually from the early sixties - or late fifties at the earliest."

A forty, possibly fifty year old truck. Come on, Dad, really?

"Uh, Dad, I really don't know the first thing about cars, and if anything went wrong, I couldn't really afford a mechanic - "

"Really, Brax, the thing runs great. They don't build cars like that anymore."

I stifled a sigh. "How cheap is cheap, exactly?" The price was, after all, the one thing that I really couldn't compromise on.

He glanced hopefully at me out of the corner of his eye. "Well, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift of sorts."

Translation: Free.

I resisted the urge to scratch my left ear, a nervous habit of mine when I'm embarrassed. Gifts as a rule embarrass me, but I had learned by that point that a gift is almost always a gesture of love, and the appropriate response is to thank the giver and try to enjoy the gift. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth. Or the engine.

"Wow. Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that."

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, equally embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. Nether I nor my dad were real talkers. We stared out the windows for the majority of the ride.

Eventually we reached the house. It was the very same two-bedroom one-bathroom house that my father had bought with my mother in the early days of their (admittedly very short) marriage. There, parked on the street in front of the house, was my new (!) truck. It was a faded red, with large rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. And, wouldn't you know, I loved the thing - it was one of those solid iron affairs that never seems to get damaged. I could just picture it at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign luxury car it had destroyed.

"Dad, this is perfect!" I cried. "Thanks a bunch!"

"Glad you like it," said Dad, embarrassed again.

It only took one trip to get all my things up the stairs to my room - the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room had been mine since I was born and really hadn't changed since then - the rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. Only a bed had replaced the crib and a desk had been put in a corner as I grew older. On the desk there now sat a second-hand computer with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. I could only guess that my dad hadn't known beforehand that I was bringing my own laptop.

One definite advantage of living with my dad is that, like most dads, he doesn't hover. He left me alone to get unpacked, something my mother could never have done. It was a relief to be alone, to not have to try to act pleased to make someone happy, to stare moodily out the window at the rain. Not that it wasn't beautiful outside, more so than I remembered it being. Everything was lush and green, even in January.

Forks High School had a grand total of three hundred and fifty-seven students - or three hundred and fifty-eight now. To put things into perspective, my junior class alone back in Phoenix had had over seven hundred students. All the kids here in Forks would have grown up together - their _grandparents_ would have grown up together. I was going to be The New Kid from The Big City, a curiosity to be stared at.

Maybe if I looked the part of a kid from Phoenix, I could work this to my advantage. A boy from Phoenix ought to be big and muscled, a sports player with a good tan to boot. Blond and blue-eyed too, probably.

But I was all overlong bony limbs and overlong brown hair, obviously not an athlete, even if I had possessed the hand-eye coordination necessary for playing sports. In spite of living in the valley of the sun, I somehow managed to be pasty and frail-looking. All these things were in and of themselves nothing to really complain of; my only real complaint was of course my asthma.

When I finished putting my clothes away, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and trudged off to the bathroom to get cleaned up after my travels. I tried hard not to look too hard at my face as I dragged the brush through my tangled, wet hair. Perhaps it was just the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. Or had I always looked like that - three steps away from fainting?

Who was I kidding? It wasn't just physically that I'd never truly fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances in a school of three hundred and fifty?

I tended not to relate well to people my age. Perhaps the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Sometimes I wondered if what I saw with my eyes was the same world as what everyone else saw. Perhaps there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause did not matter. What mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would begin the effect once again.

I did not sleep well that night, probably because it was the first night in an unfamiliar place. The constant sound of falling raindrops on the roof was not much help in that regard either, since I was so unused to the sound. When I awoke the next morning, I could see nothing but thick grey mist out the window.

Breakfast with my father was a quiet affair, our conversation consisting principally of him wishing me good luck at school and my thanking him for his well wishes. I almost told him not to waste his breath - good luck tended to avoid me.

He left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat for a while at the square oak table in one of the three chairs and stared thoughtfully around the kitchen, with its dark, paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Back when my parents had first been married, my mother had painted the cabinets sunshine yellow in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the kitchen. It must have been done in some uncharacteristic burst of rebellion against the constant overcast skies; the mother I knew didn't often do things like that anymore. I guess having a kid will do that to you.

Over the fireplace in the small adjoining family room was a row of pictures. There was a wedding picture of my mother and father in Las Vegas, a picture of the two of them with newborn me in the hospital (courtesy of a helpful nurse), and a procession of all my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at - I'd have to see if I could get Dad to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was painfully obvious, sitting in the kitchen with bright yellow cabinets and staring at the old wedding picture, that my dad had never gotten over my mom. It was rather depressing to think about, and I decided I couldn't stay in the house any more.

I put on my rain jacket and headed out into the rain. It was more of a drizzle than actual raindrops, and I did not bother to put my hood up. I reached for the house key where it was hidden under the eaves by the door and locked up the house. Then I sloshed my way over to my truck and climbed inside.

The inside of the truck was nice and dry. Someone had obviously cleaned it up for me, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco and gas and peppermint. To my relief the engine started quickly, but loudly, roaring to life and idling at top volume. Well, a forty-five-year-old beast like this was bound to have _one_ fault or other, and on the upside the old radio was still working.

It was not hard to find the school. Like most things it was just off the highway, though it was a bit of a surprise for me to see the sign which read Forks High School. It looked to me more like a collection of matching houses built with maroon bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs that I couldn't see the size of the school at first.

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door that read "FRONT OFFICE." No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off-limits, but I decided to get directions inside rather than circle in the rain like an idiot. I stepped out of my truck and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges, trying not to listen to my loud breathing. I paused at the door for a moment before opening it.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd expected. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded chairs, the walls lined with notices and awards, and a large clock ticking loudly. The room was cut in half by a long counter, which was cluttered with wire baskets full of papers with brightly colored flyers taped to the front. Behind the counter were three desks, one of which was occupied by a woman with red hair wearing glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking up.

"Um, yes," I hesitated. "I'm Abraxas Abelard - "

But that was evidently all I needed to say. I could tell by the look of awareness on her face that she at least had been expecting me. Probably half the town was expecting me by now.

"Oh, of course," she said, and instantly began rifling through a precariously stacked pile of papers until she found what she was looking for. "I have your schedule here, and a map of the school." And she gave me an overview of where my classes were and how best to get to them, and then she gave me a slip which I was to have each teacher sign and return to her at the end of the day. She smiled and said she hoped I would like it here in Forks. I just smiled back rather vaguely.

When I went back out to my truck, I saw that the other students had begun to arrive already. I followed the line of traffic around the school, noting with a certain relief that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. The nicest car in the student lot was a shiny silver Volvo, and it stood out. My mind flashed back to the student lot at school back in Phoenix, where it was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche.

Once I had parked, I sat for a minute looking at the map in an attempt to memorize the layout of the school. Then I stuffed everything into my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, stepped out of the truck, and embarked on my new adventure.

My first class was English in building three, which was easy to identify as there was a large "3" painted on the east corner. The people going into the small classroom around me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks, and I followed suit. Then I took my slip up to the teacher, a tall balding man whose desk held a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He stared at me when I told him my name (how rude!) and sent me to and empty desk at the back of the room without bothering to introduce me to the rest of the class.

I sat down and looked over the list that Mr. Staring-Without-A-Civil-Greeting Mason had given me. It was basic enough - Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Tolstoy. I had read everything on it already. That was as comforting as it was boring. I wondered if Mom would send me my old folder of essays to use, or it she would consider it cheating, which was more likely.

Then the bell rang, and a girl with straight dark hair and acne leaned across the aisle to speak to me. She looked like the over-helpful tour guide type.

"You're Abraxas Abelard, right?" she said.

I fought to keep from cringing. "_Please_ call me Brax," I said.

"Where's your next class?"

"Uh - " I reached for my schedule. "Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way. . . I'm Erica Yorkie, by the way."

I smiled politely. "Thank you, Erica."

We put on out jackets and headed out into the rain, which was picking up. Erica made small talk with me as we headed around the cafeteria to the south buildings by the gym. She accompanied me almost to the door, which was clearly marked, before saying, "Well, catch you later!" and hurrying off.

The rest of the morning passed in much the same fashion. Mr. Varner, who taught Trigonometry, was the only teacher who made me stand at the front of the classroom and introduce myself. And of course after managing _that_ well enough, I had to go and trip over my boots on the way to my seat.

One boy sat next to me in both Trigonometry and Spanish, which was my next class, and walked to the cafeteria with me for lunch. He was tall, not much shorter than I was at six foot three, though his wildly curly dark hair made him look even taller. His name was Joel Stanley, and he was a talker. He rattled on nonstop about classes and teachers and other students while I mostly nodded and said "Uh-huh," every now and then. I wasn't even trying to keep up with it all.

He got me to sit with him at a full table with a number of his friends to whom he introduced me, and me to them. Erica waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the cafeteria, trying to eat and make conversation with seven curious strangers at the same time, that I first saw _them_.

They were seated in the corner of the cafeteria that was farthest from where I was sitting. There were five of them, and each of them was wolfing down a tray full of food. They did not seem to be talking to each other. At any rate, they weren't staring at _me_, which was rather a relief. But it was none of these things which caught and held my attention.

They looked nothing alike. Of the three girls, one was a giantess - probably taller than me standing up, and cocoa skin and thick dark tendrils of hair to her chin. One of them was pixielike, thin in the extreme with jet black hair down her back and distinctly Asian features. The last one was of average height with loose wavy dark hair, and looked Native American (enough to make me wonder what she was doing away from the reservation). She had the figure you see on the front cover on every _Sports Illustrated_ issue. All three of them had very dark brown eyes.

The two boys were opposites. The tall one was everything, in essence, that a Phoenix native should be, everything that I was not. Taller even than the black girl, muscled like a serious weight lifter, blond hair swinging loose just above his broad shoulders. Seriously, he even had blue eyes. The other boy was short and stocky and definitely Middle Eastern, and had short curly black hair.

And yet, thought they were all as different as five people can be, they all had one thing in common. Each and every one of their faces was flawless in symmetry, perfect in beauty. They were almost too beautiful to be believable, to be _human_.

Get a grip, Brax.

As I watched, the shorter boy finished his lunch, rose to his feet, and glided swiftly away from the table. I watched, mesmerized at his gait which seemed to be a shuffle but was far too fluid, as he dumped his tray and left the cafeteria.

"Who're _they_?" I asked of Joel.

He looked up to see who I meant, though I was sure he must already know, and at the same moment one of the girls suddenly glanced at him. Then her large dark brown eyes flickered over to mine. She looked uninterested, as if she had heard someone call her name and decided before hand not to respond.

She looked away at once, though I had already dropped my eyes in embarrassment at being caught staring.

Joel rolled his eyes over at the table. "Those are the Cullens," he said. "Or, more accurately, Tray, Kyle and Amanda Cullen. The other two, Lucilla and Susan, are wards or something like that."

I risked a glance back at their table. The copper-skinned girl had stopped eating for a moment, and her faultless lips were moving rapidly. The other three were looking at her as they continued to demolish their lunches.

"They're all, uh, pretty good-looking," I said rather lamely, aware of the obvious understatement.

"To say the least!" said Joel, smirking. "But they're all together - like, _together_ together. Tray, the one who just left, is with Susan, the Japanese girl who looks like she's in a constant state of PMS. And the tall black girl, Lucilla, is with Kyle, the big blond guy. Seriously, is that even legal?"

"Joel, come on," said one of his friends, a short, slender boy with brown hair and glasses whose name was Andy Weber. "It's not like they're related."

"Yeah, but they all _live_ together," said Joel. "It's weird. They moved down here from Alaska a couple of years ago, and they pretty much keep to themselves."

Unable to help myself, I risked yet another glance at the Cullens. As I looked, Amanda Cullen unexpectedly met my eyes again, this time with active curiosity in her lovely face. Once again I dropped my eyes.

"Oh yeah, and about Amanda," said Joel, who had noticed. "Don't waste your time. She doesn't date, apparently. None of the guys here are good enough for her, I guess."

Obviously it was a case of sour grapes for him. I refrained from rolling my eyes and asking when she'd turned _him_ down.

After a few minutes, all four of them finished their food and left the cafeteria. Like Tray, they were all oddly graceful as they walked, even big brawny Kyle. It was a little unsettling.

My next class was Biology II, and as Andy's next class was also Biology he offered to walk there with me, and I accepted. It was a quiet walk; Andy was not a talkative guy. When we entered the classroom, he went to sit at a lab table like the ones I was used to back in Phoenix. He already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled except one. Next to the center aisle, Amanda Cullen sat alone.

As I went up to the teacher, Mr. Banner, to get my slip signed, I watched her surreptitiously. Just as I passed by, she suddenly stiffened in her seat. She stared at me with the strangest expression on her face - she looked tortured, as if it physically pained her to look at me. I looked quickly away from her, but not before I noticed that her eyes, which I had thought were dark before, were a shockingly bright shade of green.

Mr. Banner signed my slip, and handed me a book without a word about introductions, for which I was rather grateful. Of course he had no choice but to send me off to the only empty seat on the room. I kept my eyes on the floor as I went to sit next to _her_, bewildered as I was by the look she was giving me.

What was wrong with her?!

As I took my seat, I saw her lean away from me until she was sitting on the extreme edge of her chair. Her face was half turned away, as if she smelled something repulsive.

I tried to inconspicuously sniff my underarms. They smelled like my generic deodorant, an innocent enough smell. Not my underarms, then. My hair, perhaps? I sniffed at my hair. It smelled like my shampoo, which was as ubiquitous as my deodorant. If not my underarms, then not my hair either.

I shook my head a little, both to clear it and to better let my hair shield my face (no haircut in my immediate future, obviously). I took out my notebook and tried to pay attention to the lecture Mr. Banner was giving. Unfortunately, the subject was cellular anatomy, which I had already studied back in Phoenix. I took notes anyway, as it gave me an excuse to not look at my strange neighbor.

Occasionally, though, I couldn't resist a quick peek down at her. She sat on the very edge of her seat, tense as a bowstring, never moving or relaxing the whole hour. That lecture seemed to last an eternity, and I wanted nothing more than to be out of it.

Was this Amanda Cullen's normal behavior? If so, I felt a lot more respect for Joel for ever daring to ask her out. But it couldn't have anything to do with _me_; she didn't know me from Adam.

Then, so suddenly that I almost jumped, the bell rang loudly. Instantly, Amanda gathered up her books and was out of her seat almost before I could blink. She flew out the door more quickly than I would have believed possible.

I sat still, trying to gather my senses. I had just met the most beautiful girl in the whole universe, and she despised me.

Come on, Brax, pull it together. It's not the first time a girl you like has taken exception to you.

"Aren't you Abraxas Abelard?" said a girl's voice.

I blinked. Standing by my chair was a pretty auburn-haired girl with large blue eyes and a friendly smile.

"Brax," I said, smiling back. "I go by Brax."

"I'm Marissa Newton. Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"Really? My next class is gym too!" She seemed quite excited about it, though I was not too surprised. This was a small school.

She walked with me to the gym. Like Joel, Marissa was a chatterer, and she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easier for me. As it turned out, she was in my English class as well as Biology and P. E. Nicest person I'd met today.

As we went into the gym, Marissa asked me, "By the way, what _did_ you do to Amanda Cullen? I've never seen her act like that before. She looked like she was going to throw up."

So that wasn't her usual behavior, and I wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

"I didn't do anything," I said. "I didn't even _talk_ to her."

"Strange girl." Marissa lingered by me. "All I can say is, if I were lucky enough to sit next to you, I would have spoken to you." And she disappeared into the girls' locker room before I could reply.

I tried to work out if she was flirting with me as I went into the boys' locker.

Coach Clapp, the Gym teacher, found a uniform for me but did not make me dress down for today's class. In Phoenix, only two years of P.E. were required in high school; here it was mandatory all four years.

Living in Forks had its disadvantages.

I sat and watched four games of volleyball running at the same time and tried not to think of the number of asthma attacks I'd had in P.E. I had always been among the last to get picked for a team. At last the bell rang, and I left the gym.

After P.E. I had band practice in building five. That class was _very_ small; in fact, there was only one violinist apart from me. The director, Mrs. Evans, was very happy to see me. She did not make me introduce myself, but she did ask to hear a selection which would show what I could do. I played Gretry's _Tambourin_ from Suzuki book 8, which I was finishing. Mrs. Evans seemed pleased by this, and put me on the front row - that is, next to Claire, the one other violinist.

That particular class passed without incident. The violin had always been my strongest point, so I was able to keep up without difficulty. After class was over, I headed back to the office with my slip.

"How was your first day, dear?" asked the red-haired receptionist.

"Oh, fine," I said absently. She raised her eyebrows at me.

When I reached my truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. I climbed inside and sat for a few minutes staring out the windshield. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I drove back to my father's house, trying without much success not to think about Amanda Cullen.

* * *

><p><strong>What do you think? Should I continue?<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back, y'all!**

**This is where the plot starts to depart from the Twilight books. Hope you all enjoy!**

**Oh yeah, and the rating just went up to T because of a bit of suggestive material.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>The next day was much easier.<p>

It was easier in spite of Mr. Varner calling on me in Trigonometry when my hand wasn't raised and my having the wrong answer. It was easier in spite of my having to make a fool of myself playing volleyball.

Today was easier than yesterday because it was not raining yet, though there were dense clouds. Marissa Newton sat next to me in English and walked with me to Government, with Erica Yorkie staring resentfully at her the whole time; it was as flattering as it was awkward. I sat with a large group at lunch that included Marissa, Erica, Joel, Andy, and a number of their friends whose names I was getting better at remembering. In spite of my fears, I did not have an attack during volleyball. And best of all, Amanda Cullen was not there at all.

I had planned to confront her, of course, and ask what she had against me. Before I had fallen asleep the night before I had mapped out exactly what I was going to say, though in all likelihood I probably would not have said it.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Joel for lunch, I saw that her four brothers and sisters (after a fashion) were all seated at the same distant table, and she was not there.

Marissa intercepted us and steered us to her table. Joel seemed elated by the attention, and his friends quickly joined us. But all the time we were talking I couldn't stop myself from constantly checking the Cullens' table to see if she had appeared. I hoped that if she did come, she would ignore. I would rather be a stranger than a confirmed enemy.

But all through lunch, Amanda Cullen did not appear, and I began to relax. When, by the end of lunch, she still had not appeared, I walked to Biology feeling much happier in general about life. Marissa bounced along beside me, her red-brown hair swinging as she chattered excitedly. At the door of the classroom I looked around anxiously, but Amanda was not there. Marissa followed me all the way to my desk, lingering by it until the bell rang, before going reluctantly to her own desk.

It looked as if I would have to do something about Marissa. I had never been the hottest guy, but I had had enough girls flirt with me before to know what was going on. Dealing with an over-friendly girl requires tact at the best of times, and never more than in a small town like this one where everyone knew everyone else. I had never been very tactful - are most guys tactful? Most of my attempts at tactfully getting rid of flirtatious girls had failed pretty spectacularly.

It was definitely a relief to have the desk to myself that day. But I was beginning to have a nagging suspicion that I was the reason she was absent. It was ridiculous, of course, nothing short of vanity, to imagine that without saying a word to her I could so strongly affect her. But I couldn't stop my mind from reviewing the anguished look on her face when she had looked at me.

Focus, Brax.

After Biology, Marissa came bounding over to me again, and I knew it would have to be now or never. It had never been to my advantage to let a girl think I was "leading her on." I waited until we were outside on our way to Gym.

"Um, Marissa," I said nervously. "I like you, and you're very pretty, but - but I'm not, um, really interested in, uh, dating right now, so - "

"Not even Amanda Cullen?" said Marissa raising her eyebrows. "Don't think I didn't see you looking repeatedly over at the Cullens' table both today and yesterday. All the boys go after her at some point, not like they've had any success." She sighed and looked rather sullen, and I felt a bit sorry for her. The Cullen girls did seem to set a standard of beauty that no one else could reach.

"It isn't that," I began. "And like I said, I like you - "

"But not like _that_," said Marissa. "Well, I guess I can only say I tried, right?"

She cleared off soon after that, and I felt relieved. That hadn't gone too badly.

I almost had an attack in Gym that day, as the ball hit my chest when I went to return a serve. Coach Clapp stopped the game to ask me if I was okay, and of course there was no way I was going to admit that anything was wrong with everybody standing there looking at me. Thankfully the rest of the game passed without incident.

On my way to band practice from the gym, I saw the two Cullen wards, Susan and Lucilla, climb into the shiny Volvo. Of course it _would_ be theirs. I had not looked at their clothes before, as I had been too mesmerized with their faces, but now I saw that their clothes had that unmistakable simple-but-expensive look. What with their remarkable comeliness, not to mention the way they all carried themselves, the Cullens could of course have worn dishrags and pulled it off; it seemed hardly fair that they got both the looks and the money. But I guess that's how life works most of the time. At any rate, their wealth didn't seem to buy them acceptance here.

On second thought, I concluded differently. The isolation must be their desire; beauty like theirs would be enough to open any doors readily if they really wanted to be accepted.

Band practice was even more uneventful. Truthfully, the music I was playing was rather behind my level, and I was already beginning to be bored with it. I also got the feeling that Luke, the flute player, didn't like me very much. I was glad to get out of that room, anyway, and climb into my truck.

The night before, I had found out that my dad couldn't cook much of anything besides toast and bacon and fried eggs. And, of course, fish. Now I was no master chef by any stretch, but my cooking _was_ a little more extensive than that. It was only the year before that I had experienced that terrible three part epiphany that all teenage boys must experience as a necessary part of growing up - that 1) the food I ate did not appear in front of me by magic, that 2) there was actually personal effort involved on someone's part, and 3) if the worst came to the worst, the person putting in the effort might one day end up being me. Since having suffered that dreadful revelation, I had pressed my mother to teach me how to cook, which she had done.

I had therefore asked my dad to let me be in charge of the kitchen for the duration of my stay, and he had handed over the keys to the banquet hall willingly enough. I had also put together a grocery list, and so with that and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY I headed off to the supermarket.

The Thriftway was just a few streets south of the school, and off the highway. It was large enough to mask the sound of the falling rain on the roof, and it reminded me of being back in Phoenix. I had never taken charge of the shopping before, and so it took me a while to figure out the lowest prices for everything I needed for the week.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries and then started on dinner. I stuck four potatoes in the oven to bake, covered two big steaks in marinade, and stuck them in the fridge. Then I went upstairs and for the first time since arriving checked my e-mail. I had an unread e-mail from my mother, of course.

"Brax," it read. . .

I swear, I miss you already. How was your flight? How was your first day of school? Is it raining?

Mom

I typed up a reply at once.

Mom,

Of course it's raining! School is a bit repetitive, but fine really. I made a couple of friends already. Dad bought me a truck! It's really old, but it's really sturdy too, and I love it. I miss you too.

Brax

After that I went back downstairs to check the potatoes and start the steaks. I had just done that when my dad walked in.

"Hey, Brax," he said when he saw me.

"Hi, Dad," I said.

He stepped out of his gun belt and boots as I checked everything and got started on homework. To my knowledge, he had never shot the gun on the job, but he always kept it ready. I remembered that when I had been a little boy he would always remove the bullets as soon as he came in. It seemed he now considered me old enough not not shoot myself by accident, and emotionally secure enough to not shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked. My mother, when the fit took her, could be quite an imaginative cook, and her experiments were not always edible.

"Steak and potatoes and salad," I said.

He looked relieved at this, and soon enough he went into the family room to watch TV while I finished cooking. When everything was ready, I called him in.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. As I think I have said before, neither of us were exactly talkative people, and we didn't mind the quiet.

"So how's school going?" he asked as he took seconds. "Made any friends yet?"

"Well, I have a couple of classes with Joel Stanley and Andy Weber," I said. "And Marissa Newton and Erica Yorkie are pretty friendly. Everyone's been cool so far." With one glaring exception.

"Oh, you met the Newton girl," he said. "Nice kid - good family. Her father owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He gets a good living from all the backpackers that come through here."

After a short pause I asked cautiously, "You don't by chance know the Cullens?"

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. The doctor's a great guy."

"Well, the kids. . .they're a little, um, different. . .they don't seem to fit in very well at school."

He looked quite angry at this. "People in this town," he grumbled. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could easily make ten times the salary he makes here, in any hospital in the world. We're lucky to have him - lucky that his wife prefers living in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in with all those teenagers. I thought they might be problem kids. But they're all very mature - haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them, which is more than I can say for some of the kids whose families have lived in this town for generations. And just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was without question the longest speech I had ever heard him make in my life. He must feel very strongly about what people were saying.

"Oh, they seemed nice enough to me," I said hastily. "I just noticed that they kept to themselves. They're all pretty attractive."

He laughed. "You should see the doctor!" he said. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. Then I started washing the dishes by hand - no dishwasher - while he cleared the table. Then he went back to the TV and I went upstairs to start practicing my violin. After an hour of my Suzuki repertoire I stopped and got started on my homework, and when that was finished, I practiced for another hour (mostly scales and band stuff that time). Then I went to bed, and being very tired fell asleep quickly.

The next day, it was colder but not raining. People greeted me in the parking lot, and I just waved back and said a lot of "Hi's" and "Hey's", as I only remembered about half of their names. Marissa did not come to sit beside me in English, which seemed to make Erica very happy; at any rate, she looked much less unhappy about _something_ than she had looked the day before.

When I left the classroom, with Erica beside me this time, the air was full or swirling little bits of white. I heard people shouting at each other in excitement.

"Ooh, look," said Erica. "It's snowing."

I stared around in dismay. The little white fluffs were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically around my head. "This is snow?"

She looked at me quizzically. "Um, yeah, this white stuff here, this is snow."

"But I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes - you know, each one unique and all that. These look like the ends of Q-tips."

She giggled. "You seriously have never seen snow falling before?"

"Sure I have, on TV."

That made her laugh. And then, without warning, a big lump of mushy dripping snow sailed right into the back of her head. We both turned around to see where it had come from. I immediately became suspicious about Marissa, who had her back to us and was walking in quite the wrong direction for her next class. Apparently Erica seemed to think so too, for she bent down and began scooping up a handful of the white stuff without delay.

"How about I catch you later?" I said, beginning to walk away. "When people start throwing wet stuff, I usually disappear."

She just nodded, her eyes on Marissa's retreating form.

Throughout that morning, everyone around me chattered about the snow - apparently the first snowfall of the new year. I just kept quiet. If this was what snow was like, I wasn't particularly sure I liked it much.

I walked circumspectly to the cafeteria with Joel after Spanish, as mush balls - excuse me, snowballs - were flying everywhere. My hood was up and I was holding my binder like a shield, ready to use it like one if needed. Joel seemed to think this hilarious, but at least he didn't take it onto his head to throw a snowball at me.

Marissa caught up to us as we entered the doors. She was laughing, and ice was melting all over her hair, though she didn't seem to mind. She and Joel were talking about the snowball fight as we got in line to buy lunch. As I followed them, I glanced toward the Cullens' table in the corner, and got a horrible shock.

There were _five_ people sitting at the table.

"Brax? Brax!" Joel was pulling on my arm. "What are you getting?"

"Huh?" I demanded, jumping a little. My face and ears were hot and I was short of breath. Inwardly I cursed my hormones.

"Is something wrong?" asked Marissa.

"No, no, I'm fine," I said, hastily filling my tray with food to avoid looking at the Cullens and then following Joel and Marissa to their table.

"That's a lot of food," said Andy Weber, staring at my tray as I shuffled up, deliberately not looking at the table in the corner.

"Yeah, and?" I sat down and started shoveling down my lunch. Joel watched me eat with a certain awe. "Whoa," he said. "I've never seen anybody put food away quite like that. Are you stressed about something?"

"No," I said between bites. "Mind your own business."

Joel raised his eyebrows. "Just asking."

Toward the end of my meal I allowed myself one glance at the Cullen table, debating skipping Biology if Amanda was glaring at me. Keeping my head down, I looked up carefully. None of them were looking toward my table at all, so I lifted my head a little.

They were all laughing. The Tray and Kyle both had dripping wet hair. The girls were all leaning away in pretest as Kyle leaned forward and shook his wet hair at them. Clearly they were enjoying the snowy day, like everybody else.

"What're you looking at, Brax?" inquired Joel. I'd lost track of how many seconds I'd been looking at the Cullens.

At that moment, Amanda Cullen glanced over in my direction, and my eyes met hers.

I turned my head away quickly, just to be safe, though I was sure that she didn't look tortured like she had two days ago. She looked curious again, and in some way unsatisfied.

"Amanda Cullen is looking at you," Joel informed me.

"Does she look angsty?" I asked.

"No," Joel seemed surprised by the question. "Should she?"

"I think I remind her of an abusive dad or something," I said, popping a handful of fries into my mouth. "She doesn't like me."

"Well, it's not like the Cullens really _like_ anyone," said Joel. "Or at least, they don't notice anyone enough to like them. Amanda's still staring at you, though."

"Then stop looking back at her!" I hissed. "She'll know we're talking about her."

"All of the Cullens seem to know when they're being talked about," said Marissa. "It's like a sixth sense or something."

"Or the proverbial ears burning," I joked.

Then Joel started outlining his plan for an epic snowball fight that afternoon, inviting the rest of us to join in. He seemed especially to address Marissa, and something in his expression suggested to me that he at least wouldn't have half as much fun if she didn't accept. I kept quiet, knowing I would be safe in band practice while all the snowball throwing was going on.

When at the end of the lunch hour we went to the door to leave, everybody groaned. The snow had all been washed away by rain, which meant it had warmed up. For my part, I was just relieved that it wasn't freezing rain.

I raised the hood of my jacket and made my way to building two alone. Once inside the classroom, I was pleasantly surprised to see that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was going around the room distributing a microscope and a box of slides to each table. I went to my own table, sat down, and pulled out my books. Being a little early and having for the moment nothing to do, I doodled idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard quite clearly when the chair moved next to me, but I still didn't dare look up.

"Good morning," said a lilting, musical voice low in my ear. I nearly jumped out of my seat with surprise. Then I looked up, blinking owlishly.

Amanda Cullen's face was turned toward me in all its copper-brown, high-cheekboned, aquiline glory, and she was smiling. It was a polite smile, I'm sure, but it still stole my breath and muddled my brain. Her long, shining dark hair was gathered into a loose braid over her shoulder, and her soft brown eyes were warm and inviting.

I tried looking down from her eyes to get a hold of myself, but I ended up looking at her _body_ instead. Whoops! I blinked and tried to focus back on her face, but it was too late. Certain parts of mine were already reacting, and I wasn't sure if I would make it through the end of class. My face must have been crimson to the ears.

"I'm Amanda Cullen," the musical voice continued. "And you must be Brax Abelard."

Did she hate me or not? She was being perfectly polite now. And she clearly was expecting a response of some kind from me.

"How do you know my name?" was all that my hormone-addled brain could come up with.

"I'm pretty sure just about everyone in this town's been expecting you for a while," she said casually.

Come on, Brax, think of something intelligent to say!

"I meant, why did you call me Brax?" I asked, wishing already that I could sink into the floor.

"You don't _prefer_ Abraxas, do you?"

I shuddered. "No, no!" I said quickly. "But I think my dad has been calling me - " I choked, unable to bring myself to say my full name again. " - by my long name behind my back, because everybody's been calling me that."

"He has," she said smoothly. "But you've been correcting everyone."

Small town life. Of course. I fought to repress my sigh.

Mr. Banner started class at that moment, much to my relief. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. Apparently, the slides in the box (which were onion root) were out of order, and our job was to separate them into the five phases of mitosis they represented and to label them accordingly. Without looking at out textbooks. And in twenty minutes he would start going around the room to see who had it right.

"Now get started," he said.

I summoned my courage and turned back to Amanda. "Ladies first?" I asked. When all else failed, I always had courtesy to fall back on.

She turned her eyes back toward me and smiled again. This time I managed to maintain eye contact.

"Thank you," she said, and took the microscope. She pulled out the first slide and fixed it in place under the lens. Then she adjusted the lens to what must be 40X, and peered briefly at the slide.

"Prophase," she said confidently, her pencil flying over the paper.

"Mind if I look?" I reached for the microscope. I couldn't resist showing off a little. I had already done this particular lab, and knew what I was looking for.

My hand brushed against hers as I leaned over, and I couldn't completely suppress a slight shiver. I forced myself to focus on the slide as I looked through the lens. Damn, she was right - it was prophase. I put the slide back in the box and drew out the next one. Once I had fixed it in place I looked as briefly as I could before stating, "Anaphase," and writing it down. It was rather humiliating to see her thin, spidery script on top of my own chicken scratches. I resolved to not defile the paper again.

"May I?" asked Amanda, and I turned the microscope to her. I couldn't resist a smirk, I knew I was right.

"Anaphase," she confirmed, and unless I was mistaken, her eyes flickered ever so briefly over to meet mine. She immediately switched out the slides, and in this fashion we got through all the slides before anyone else was done. And of course that left me with nothing to do except to twiddle my thumbs and try not to stare at her like some obsessed weirdo.

I glanced down at her only to find her looking up at me with that same curious look that spoke of some unmet expectation. Belatedly I noticed something concretely different about her.

"Do you wear contacts?" I asked before catching myself. She might be offended.

"No. Why?"

"Well," I paused, trying to gauge her reaction. "I thought your eyes seemed kind of different."

Actually, now that I thought about, the whole thing seemed weird. When I had first seen her in the cafeteria, I had noted her eyes as being dark, like they were now. But in the classroom when she had first given me that strange, tormented look, her eyes had been bright green - a shocking color that I couldn't have missed. Was I crazy?

She studied me, her unmistakably brown eyes guarded. "Different how?"

I bit my lip, knowing how stupid I was going to sound. "It's just - your eyes looked green the other day and brown today," I said in a rush, and promptly flushed again.

She was going to answer, I knew she was, but just at that moment Mr. Banner came to our table to see why we weren't working. He glanced down at the completed lab, then looked more closely at the answers to check them.

"Miss Cullen, didn't you think Mr. Abelard should get a chance with the microscope?" he asked.

Amanda looked up innocently. "Actually, he identified two of the five phases, Mr. Banner."

Mr. Banner looked at me skeptically. "Have you done this lab before?"

"Er, not with onion root," I said.

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yes."

"I see." Mr. Banner paused. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes." I scratched my ear.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you two are lab partners then." He walked away, muttering under his breath.

I looked back at Amanda. Would she answer the question? Probably not.

"Do you actually like it here?"

Something in the tone of her voice made me think she wasn't interested in a polite "Sure, it's fine." So I said, "Define _like_."

"It's like that, huh?"

"I don't actually mind Forks much," I hedged. "I'm just not used to it."

She studied me. "You haven't come here often, then? I hear you father's been police chief here since forever."

"Not since I was seven." I had no idea why I was telling her all this. My brain must have shut down entirely. "I was diagnosed with asthma, and I stopped coming after that."

She raised her eyebrows. "This must be a hard place for you to live in."

"It's not life-threatening, or I wouldn't have come back," I said quickly, lest she get the wrong impression.

"Obviously. Still, why _did_ you come back?"

"Long story."

"I've got time, as I think you can see," she said, indicating the rest of the classroom.

I sighed. "My mother got remarried last September." Why was she even interested in me like that? And _why_ was I talking so much?

"_Oh_," she looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't - "

"It's not like that," I said quickly. "Phil is a good guy, if younger than Mom. But I didn't leave because I don't like him."

She blinked her large eyes at me. It looked deliberate. "Then why would you leave them?"

"Phil plays baseball for a living, and travels a lot."

"Pro ball? Would I have heard of him?"

It was my turn to blink, but only because it gave me an instant's respite from those beautiful eyes. "Probably not, even if you were really into baseball. He doesn't play all that well. Strictly minor league." It didn't even occur to me to ask if she watched baseball. "He moves around a lot, and my mom would always stay at home with me. She never said anything, but I was sure she would rather go with him, and he's her husband, I don't resent that. I thought I'd come and spend some quality time with my dad."

"So you came for _their_ benefit - your mother and Phil's."

"Yeah."

"To the detriment of your own health."

I scowled. "Like I said before, I'm just _fine_, or I wouldn't have stayed. And why does it matter to _you,_ anyway?"

She looked thoughtful. "Because it's rare and admirable in a teenage boy, to be both perceptive enough to see a sacrifice like that, and mature enough to act on like you did."

"Oh. Thanks." I scratched my ear, trying to pull my head down out of the clouds. Amanda Cullen thought I was rare and admirable!

"Please don't do that to your ear, it's bothering me."

I blinked, not fully deflating. "My ears bother you?"

"No, no, no! I've noticed that you scratch your left ear when you're being put on the spot, and it's all red and scarred. Your right ear looks just fine."

"You - you've been looking at my _ears_?" I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with Amanda Cullen.

She didn't have time to reply, as Mr. Banner then called the class to order. I was relieved, as I had just basically spilled my guts to the prettiest girl in school. On the other hand, she thought I was mature and perceptive, a big improvement over that weird stare she had been giving me before.

Did she like me a little?

The rest of class passed in a blur, my inattention not helped by the fact that I had already covered the day's topic back in Phoenix. When the bell finally rang, I turned back to Amanda and blurted out, "Can - may I walk you to your next class?"

Amanda, who was beginning to gather up her books, paused lifted her eyes to meet mine again. A slow smile spread over her face, and her eyes sparkled with kind humor. It was as if the sun had for one moment burst through the ever-present cover of clouds over Forks. "Yes," she said. "You may. My next class is Spanish, actually."

I was so flustered I forgot to offer to carry her books. I stuffed my own books into my bag with shaking hands. While still bent over my bag I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It didn't work. When at last I straightened up, I could only hope my face did not reflect now nervous I was. We both put on our raincoats - hers was much more fashionable than mine, of course - and went out.

I was the first to speak. "You know you didn't answer my question, right?"

She looked warily up at me. I had not realized before how much taller I was than she. "What question?" she asked.

"About your eyes," I persisted doggedly.

"You just won't leave it alone until you get an answer, will you?"

I shook my head. She was silent for a bit, and seemed to be pondering how best to reply. Then she said, "Look, this isn't really the best time or place to talk about it. If you really want to know, we'll have to figure out another time to talk, preferably not in public."

So she actually wanted to talk to me. "Okay, where and when are you thinking?"

"Well, are you doing anything after school?"

"Uh, I have band practice after school." Unfortunately.

"Are you doing anything on Friday?"

"No."

"Then why don't we go hiking together on Friday?"

"Hiking?" I backpedaled quickly. "I'm not really an outdoor kind of guy - "

"Don't worry," she said. "we won't actually be hiking, it'll be more like a walk in the trees. Are you up to that?"

"Uh, sure. . .is there any reason we couldn't do this someplace indoors?" We had arrived at building seven, which was where Spanish was.

She just smiled. "You'll see." And she went inside. I stood for a few seconds staring after her, before I reminded myself that I was going to be late for Gym.

* * *

><p><strong>So that was that! I hope the differences are starting to become obvious here.<strong>

**One quick note: I suppose I should warn you now that I can't promise that following chapters will be this long on a consistent basis. I will do my very best to update this story once a week, but I can't promise that.**

**I have a reviewer already! Thanks, Obelisk! Hope you enjoy this chapter and chapters to come. And as always, I'm eager for more reviews!  
><strong>


End file.
